Ryker glances at West and shrugs. “Close enough. We’re K&R.”
Angelo’s ruddy cheeks pale slightly. “You picked the wrong man for a shakedown.”
“We don’t need your money, Rossi. And no amount of cash is going to save your son from the DeLucas.”
Angelo snaps his fingers. Four men—including Joey—block the French doors. “You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me what you know about Nathan.”
West slams his fist into the closest enforcer’s throat. Sweeping his leg in an arc, he catches a second behind the ankles. I grit my teeth, spin on my good leg, and ram my injured knee into Joey’s balls. He doubles over, which lets me grab his shoulders and repeat the move, this time breaking his nose. Blood splatters the polished wood floor.
The oof behind me from the biggest and meanest of the bunch is Ryker’s doing. My leg buckles, but West catches me before I fall.
“We can do this all day,” Ryker snaps. “But that won’t get your son back. Are you ready to listen?”
Nash’s father gapes at the unconscious, bleeding, and moaning men behind us. “I don’t know where Nathan is,” he says, his face showing every one of his sixty-seven years. “I sent two men to Seattle after Duncan went dark, but Kellan hasn’t checked in since yesterday afternoon.”
“Kellan?” My voice ain’t steady, but I manage to extricate myself from West’s supportive arm and step out from behind Ryker. “You’ve been had, Angelo. Kellan is working for the DeLucas.”
“He was working for the DeLucas,” West adds.
“Impossible! You have no proof—”
I remove my hat, not bothering to stifle my wince at the motion. “I’m the proof. Kellan is the one who cut off part of my ear when I wouldn’t tell him and another of DeLuca’s idjits what I knew about Nash.”
Shock and confusion war in his expression. “Nash? Who the hell is Nash?”
“Your son. His name is Nash Grace now, and we’re…” My throat feels like I swallowed a whole mess of cotton, and I swallow hard. “I went and fell in love with him, Angelo. But the DeLucas took him before they worked me over, and he ain’t got much time left.”
Joey grabs me and presses the barrel of a gun to my temple. “You’re dead. All of you.”
I roll my eyes at Angelo. “This one ain’t too bright.” Slamming my foot down on Joey’s instep, I duck while West relieves him of his weapon, ejects the clip and tosses both pieces onto Angelo’s desk.
“We can do this with you, or without you, Rossi,” the former SEAL says. “But I’d wager DeLuca’s endgame involves you. If you want to save Nash’s life, you’ll come with us. Right now.”
Nash
On my hands and knees, I spit blood onto Rocco’s shoes. The Neanderthal kicks me in the gut. “How much more, boss?”
Lincoln, who’s spent the past hour leaning against the wall, glances over at me. “Keep going until my father comes back. Just don’t kill him. Yet.”
Rocco bends down to peer at me. “He doesn’t look too good.”
“Fuck…you…asshole,” I wheeze. Grabbing his ankle, I jerk it toward me with all the strength and speed I can muster. He lands on his ass, and Benny strides over and slams the butt of his gun against my temple.
Dazed, I curl into a ball. In my periphery, the high windows show off clear blue sky. What time is it? Does it matter? I’m going to die today, but not before Enzo finds some way to kill my father too.
Shadows move above me. Someone—Rocco?—grabs my left wrist and wrenches my index finger hard enough something pops.
My scream echoes off the concrete walls. Pulling my hand to my chest, I fight the darkness racing for me. I’m alone. Raelynn is probably dead. Tortured until Enzo got what he wanted out of her, then tossed away like yesterday’s trash. My father is alive, but for how long?
A second pop. This time, I can only moan. Blinking hard through my tears, I start shaking. Nausea crawls up my raw throat. Fingers aren’t supposed to bend that way.
“Sit him up,” Lincoln says sharply. “Against the wall.”
Rocco drags me by my throbbing hand. The motion snaps one of my fingers back into place. My whimper sounds far away. Like someone’s wrapped my head in cotton.
The cement wall is blessedly cool through my t-shirt. I lift my head, needing to know what’s coming next. They were careful. Kept the punches to my ribs, my back, my jaw. I can still see, and I wonder why they care.
Enzo saunters into the room, a cell phone in his hand. “The men I left in Seattle just reported in, Nathan. Your girlfriend died screaming.”
